In Living Memory

5 - Parking Stupidity

5 - Parking Stupidity

There is a bluebird tapping its beak against the window as dad paces in front of me. My mum's still in bed, but apparently he stayed up all night waiting and calling his police colleagues. He said he searched the streets with Adam. Fucking good for him.

The angry lecture is coming to an end, though. He isn't really shouting anymore . . . His statements are coming out as random bursts every few seconds, like blasts of fire which are quickly put out when he looks at me.

"Just never do that again, Angelica," is what he finishes with. There is a sort of helplessness in his green eyes when I look at him and I only nod.

"I know, dad. I'm sorry . . ."

It's Carmen who should be saying sorry.

Maybe if she weren't lying half dead in the hospital then we would all be leading normal lives right now. Adam wouldn't have come knocking and so I wouldn't have gone out in that raging storm last night to escape the awkwardness of his presence.

But then again . . . It's all my fault. All that happened, it's all due to me. I'm to blame!

I am to blame!

"I know, it's all my fault, right?" I ask, and my voice rises at the end. I leap to my feet and clench my fists. "It's all me!"

He only stares, which gives me a good opportunity to turn and sprint from the room, through to my safe haven of my bedroom with the blue net curtains giving my cream walls and turquoise glow, as the sun shines on them feebly. I stare at the beauty of it for a millisecond before slamming the door shut, my throat closing and my stomach convulsing.

I have to stop this.

I strip my sodden, imprinted-with-dirt clothes off and then walk into my en-suite bathroom, stepping into the shower. I don't make any effort to grab the soap or shampoo, I only let the warm water trickle down over my cuts and bruises and grey-looking skin. My now-soaking hair sticks to my aching back and I make a mental note to root for the lavender scented heat pack that my mother keeps when her back is bad. I think I'm getting that quality from her.

The warm water feels so lovely against my skin that I sigh out and close my eyes, standing stock still and listening to nothing but the trickling of the shower water. As it bounces off my skin as water vapour into the rest of the bathroom, I grab my shower gel and begin to actually do something about the grime and dirt on my ghostly pale skin, and the most likely acid rain in my hair.

-

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I let our home phone go onto voicemail as I spread Nutella on my toast, seen as my angry mother is in the shower, having just got up, and dad is at work.

Beep. "Hey . . . Uh, it's Adam again. I sort of, well . . . I'm sorry about this. I just came out of work and my car's been towed away, it seems . . . I left it on double yellows."

Idiot . . .

"And I don't have any money so I can't catch the bus. Call me back? If it's okay, could you pick me up? Thanks."

Just because his parents are on holiday does not mean that mine are suddenly their replacement and we have to do everything for him! How convenient is this. What a bloody moron!

"What's happened to Adam? I only just heard the last part of the message." My mother stands in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her and one around her red hair, her skin as clear as the day and glowing like porcelain. With her she brings the scent of vanilla.

"He's been and idiot-"

"Angelica!"

"-And he has gotten his car towed away. Sounds like he parked it on double yellow lines, and he wants someone to pick him up." My voice is strangely patient sounding. "Probably, you'll have to take him to the police station-"